Human Experiences
by sharmini
Summary: Mitchell feels something while watching 'The Real Hustle'.  I am very bad at summaries and giving a title for my story.


You British must be the luckiest lots when it comes to television programs. Being Human is, to me, the most refreshing thing I have ever seen on television. Louis and Angel used to be my favourite vampires, but Mitchell wins hands down, fingerless gloves and all. And this has nothing to do with the actor playing him being Irish and too good-looking.

This story was inspired after I watched the fourth episode of the third series. There might be some discrepancies, I have seen the first series, but not the second one, so there is a huge gap that I have to catch up to. I just hope I have not strayed too far from the characters.

This is also the first of my fan fiction that is not quite PG. I was inspired and I just let the story tell itself. So, please let me know if I am doing this right or wrong. This is not meant to offend anyone.

Being Human belongs to the BBC. I would settle for a fingerless glove.

Maybe it was guy thing…it certainly was not a vampire thing, that much Mitchell was certain. Perhaps it was a human thing, not that he could recall such a…feeling, or emotion, when he had been human. But that evening, as he was coming into the living room, he felt…a stir. At least, that is what he would call it; other definitions were…socially awkward, to put in a respectable term. If he had been drinking, he reckoned he would have admitted sheepishly that he was aroused. But then again, the polite language depends on the amount of alcohol he had consumed.

Maybe it was vampire mentality, the arrogance that they are the most desirable of the supernatural creatures. This was an undeniable truth; Mitchell had lost count at the amount poster-boy vampires that have flooded mainstream pop culture in the recent years. The monsters (that is what vampires truly are and what Mitchell has always admitted he is) have now been packaged into glittering, brooding types that might not look out of place on a high – end fragrance advertisement. For most of the time, Mitchell did not care; it was not his concern to put the vampire '_mythology'_ (a word that always makes him laugh…he certainly is far from a myth, isn't he?) in its right track. Perhaps someone out there knows of the existence of monsters and decided to gloss over the facts and make then vampires more…cuddly for the mass market. Idiots. But, in a way, someone certainly had their facts right about the power of a vampire's seduction. No living thing has been known to be immune to it. It is both a lure and a weapon, a reflex reaction that occurs whenever a prey is near. Most of them, they do not have to try. The prey is fixated on them, making the takedown…kill…effortless. That is what is has been for Mitchell. After luring the prey in, it is an unbelievable romp in the bedroom, before the thirst takes over and then…blood.

He only remembers the blood. Nothing else. Initially, there is lust…but it is not for the woman in front of him, no matter how alluring she is. What the women wrongly perceive as his desire for their bodies is a mask for his true craving…their blood. And when the thirst overwhelms, there is no more control, no more Mitchell and certainly no more girl. Only the monster exists. The only emotion Mitchell remembers and lives through is the anguish and self – loathing.

He has forgotten completely how it would feel to be aroused…as a man.

But that evening, coffee mug in hand as he exited the kitchen and made his way into the living room, he was greeted by the sight of Annie at the sofa, legs curled up beneath her, one hand at the back of her neck, her elbows on the backrest of her seat. She was watching _'The Real Hustle'_, more out of obliging Mitchell than by choice. There was a look of superior indifference on her expression; her eyes slightly narrowed and glinting with the effort to stay interested in watching something she clearly disdained, the upward tilt of her chin and her full lips in that deliciously natural pout…

Mitchell, for the life of him, could not remember the last time he was so embarrassed at having a hard-on. Or even remembers having one.

Annie hated '_The Real Hustle_' with as much devotion as Mitchell and George seemed to enjoy it. They were even willing to check the papers to know when it was on and that pretty much sums up their enthusiasm for the show. Annie rarely watches the telly. Even if she does, it is usually a movie, preferably with Colin Firth in it. For as long as she had lived with George and Mitchell, they have always chosen the programs to watch; it was as if being dead stripped her off the choice of choosing what she wanted to watch. But, she made a concession for Mitchell's favourite television program. On the evenings they sit together to watch the show, Mitchell stretched out on the couch with his head on Annie's lap and Annie with her fingers running through Mitchell's hair, everything seems just so…normal. And God knows, every once in a while, they needed a dose of normal in their lives. But, as Mitchell told her once, Annie seemed to have a love-hate relationship with the television show; to which Annie replied by rolling her eyes and telling Mitchell to stop analysing and just shut up and kiss her already.

That particular evening, the program was on again on telly and George had extracted a promise from Mitchell that he would watch the show, as George was taking Nina out. This agreement was greeted by eye rolls, exasperated sighs from Annie and Nina, which was pointedly ignored by the guys. Knowing that Mitchell would have not co – operated much in any other activity, even without making the promise to George, Annie had prepared herself for an evening of nothingness…surely that is what it is, if an evening consists of two people very much in love watching the telly, when they could be playing Boggle or cuddling. Mitchell becomes all intense when the show came on, for reasons she could not quite fathom. Not for the first time, as she tried to watch the show, she wished Mitchell and George had been into football; then it would have been twenty – two men in cute little shorts running around all hot and sweaty and…

The image of photogenic footballers was quickly replaced with one of Mitchell in a Man United kit…not the red one; but the white one. Of course, Annie was not a United fan, one of her former boyfriend was and he always watched United game with an almost religious fervour. She remembers being most impressed with Manchester United Football Club and taken a bit of fancy for their players. She supposed Mitchell would look good in the white kit, with long sleeves and those adorable socks they wear. And because it is Mitchell, he would wear his fingerless gloves. He would score a goal and then celebrate by pretending to be an aeroplane, running around with his arms stretched out, like she has seen many of the players do. And after the game, Mitchell would remove his shirt…

Annie rubbed the back of her neck, just to give herself a break from the vivid images. She liked what she saw and in her mind's eyes, she could see more of it, when suddenly she felt something. It was something familiar, but foreign at the same time. She wondered if she went overboard with her imagination, but that was not the case. She has imagined Mitchell in various…settings and him being a shirtless, sweaty football player is probably amongst the most PG-rated of them all.

She felt a familiar, yet strange sensation. She felt sexy, sensuous and on top of it all, she felt desire. What surprised her was the fact that she totally amorous towards herself. Minutes ago she wanted Mitchell…and now she wanted herself.

Annie wanted Mitchell.

Annie wanted Annie.

Mitchell…

Realization dawned at her at that instance. If she had been breathing, she would have held her breathe as she contemplated these new…sensations. But, being dead as she was, she merely sat still and contemplated this new development.

She was feeling Mitchell.

And Mitchell was feeling horny.

Being so in tuned with Mitchell and his emotions, she could feel him now without touching him.

That was…

That was nothing compared to the fact that Mitchell was horny.

The telepathic thing had been inevitable; Mitchell and Annie were soul mates, so it had been just a matter of time before it happened.

But Mitchell getting all horny…in the middle of watching _'The Real Hustle'_…

This she had not anticipated, not even in her wildest dream; for none of her fantasy ever had even a hint of _'The Real Hustle'_, which to Annie was as much of a turn off as reading about Colin Firth and his Italian girlfriend.

What really excited her was the fact that his feelings were growing by the minute and with that, she wondered if anything else about him, physically, was feeling the excitement as well. She did not want to turn around and look at him, he would know immediately what was going on. Ignoring him, for the moment, was much more fun, because as horny as Mitchell was, he was a little bit confused. She decided to let him…simmer…for a bit, let him figure out what he wanted to do about it. Quite honestly, all Annie wanted to do was jump him and the image of her doing that did very little for her self – control; but reckoned that this moment belonged to Mitchell, who was having a human experience, hence the confusion.

So Annie just sat quite still on the sofa, trying to be calm and composed in the presence of the smoking hot man in the same room who wanted to do things to her that, to put it mildly, made her blush.

It made complete sense, and yet no sense at all, that Annie was able to turn him on by just sitting there on the sofa. Of all those times they had tried, including the disastrous experiment with the girl from the club, all he needed was a mug of coffee and _'The Real Hustle'_.

No, that was not quite it.

Maybe it was…

That was when Mitchell realized something.

Here he was, as horny as Hell (just an expression) and what does he do about it? He analyses it. God, that is just so wrong, when the woman he loves and desires is there, waiting for him.

He is turning into George.

The thought scared him enough to spur him into action. He put the mug on the table closest to him and went to Annie, who looked up at him innocently. "All right, Mitchell?" she asked, the glint behind her doe eyes anything but innocent.

She knew.

"Come here," he said, huskily, holding out his hand for her. She smiled and took his hand. Mitchell pulled her up from the couch and carried her into his room, thinking of all the things he wanted to do with her upstairs in his room, knowing that Annie would be able to know what he was thinking.

She did. She reciprocated by nibbling his ears, teasing him all the way to his room.

It was past midnight by the time George and Nina came home. The dinner and movie date had been normal, which to them had been a resounding success. George kissed Nina on the front porch, before opening the door for her. They came into the house, talking about the highlights of the movie and agreeing that they should recommend it for Annie and Mitchell to watch.

George was saying something as they entered the living room when he saw Annie and Mitchell on the couch. Upon seeing them, he forgot what he was saying. He frowned at the two of them, his mind trying to figure out what had happened to the two of them.

Annie was glowing…she really was glowing. She was bathed in a soft, glowing white light, looking every inch the ethereal being she was.

Mitchell, in his tank top, boxers and regulation fingerless gloves, looked like the cat who got the cream.

Suddenly, he realized what had happened between them. He was about to open his mouth and say something when Nina came from behind and grabbed his hand. She shook her head, her eyes narrowed, implying that George should, for the time being, mind on his own business, and with a quick good night to the two in the living room, dragged George upstairs with her.

"Do you realize that they have just been…" George could not articulate much, he has not recovered from his shock yet. Nina pushed him inside their room and locked the door behind her.

"Yes, George," Nina said, taking off her coat. "I am aware."

"But how…"

"It does not matter, does it?" Nina remarked. "Somehow they made it work. We can't possibly try to research it."

But George was not letting it go. He excused himself for a moment and left the room, despite Nina's protests. Before she could go after him, George was back, with a big smile on his face. He locked the door and looked at Nina, looking very satisfied.

"What?" Nina could not help asking.

"There is no one in the bathroom," George declared.

Nina waited for an explanation for that statement. But George merely took hold of Nina's shoulder, squeezing it as he repeated, "There is no one in the bathroom."

Nina decided that there was no hope of normalcy in this household. A vampire and a ghost had probably made supernatural love, God only knows how. And the man she loved has taken to checking the bathrooms for strangers.

Sometimes, there are things that no one could just quite figure it out. And Nina lived in the thick of just that.

-THE END –-


End file.
